


Five Stages of Grief

by AutumnRayne



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feels feels and more feels, Lucifer figures it out eventually, Season One Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 21:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12713271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnRayne/pseuds/AutumnRayne
Summary: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.  Lucifer experiences each stage of grief through those affected the most by his death.  Immediately following 1x13.





	Five Stages of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> This one has been hanging out on the laptop for quite a while now. I'm finally finished nitpicking! Few swear words thrown about, yucky crime scene details ahead (but hopefully not too yucky). Thank you for reading!

**Death in Its Most Hideous Form**

Lucifer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  He sighed heavily as his chin settled on top of his clenched fists.  Staring absently at the black tile floor, he took in the soft reflection of yellow light from the decimated liquor wall.  Somewhere in the mess, a bottle released its contents, drip by drip in an agonizingly slow trickle of liquid.  It spilled onto the glass shards piled along the floor.  He had counted for a while, kept track of each tink of glass as the pieces rocked gently against one another, tenderly dislodged by the dribble of alcohol.  He had hoped the steady rhythm of the sound would help calm him, would settle the swirling chaos of his thoughts.

It had not helped.

He stood and moved through the yellow glow of the penthouse into the silvery blue radiance bathing the balcony.  The clouds had cleared, though the scent of fresh rain still lingered in the air, allowing the light of the full moon to touch the earth, the stars to speckle the dark sky.  He pulled his lighter and cigarette case from his pocket as his eyes scanned the twinkling lights of the city below.  Everything seemed oddly clearer and brighter, as though he was seeing it all for the first time.

He supposed, in a way, he was.

Lucifer lit a cigarette and took a long, satisfying drag before leaning his palms on the top edge of the glass wall railing.  Closing his eyes, he dropped his head.  He was tired, mentally and physically exhausted.  The events of the day refused to leave him, pressing down upon him as though they had a tangible weight.  Father had given him the task of returning his mother to Hell.  He had so many questions, so many things to consider, however, before he could give the undertaking the attention it deserved, the urgency it needed.

He had died.

 _Died_.

And at the hands of a mortal, of all beings.

Knowing the detective’s presence compromised his immortal existence, he should have thought better than to follow her into a situation controlled by a mad man who had no fear of Lucifer’s otherworldly nature.  However, not before nor since his fall from Heaven had Lucifer been in a situation he could not manipulate and eventually control, and he simply had not thought to entertain the notion that this set of circumstances would be any different.

Yet different it had been.

Lucifer could not escape the pain of his death.  It had been agonizing, torturous.  His breathing nearly impossible, the spams constant.  His muscles twitched and ached at the mere thought of the bullet ripping through his middle.  Nothing he had experienced in all the years he existed, save the severing of his wings from his body, compared to the agony of his demise.  And the uncertainty…  He was the devil, he _knew_ what existed beyond death, yet, for a brief moment, he found himself apprehensive of what he would experience.

Where had it all gone wrong?  Where had the road to this moment in time begun?  Lucifer would not have died had he not followed Detective Decker to the hangar.  He would not have followed had her child not been taken.  The child’s abduction would not have occurred had Malcolm not lost possession of the money.  The money, the murders, Malcolm’s seemingly miraculous recovery, Amenadiel’s mission to send Lucifer home.  One by one, he could trace the events back to single moment.  He bit back a low growl.  Had the devil not left Hell, he mused.

No.

He would not take responsibility for the actions of others, would not be accountable for the choices they had made.

Lifting the cigarette to his mouth again, Lucifer inhaled deeply.  Even if he had possessed the presence of mind to consider all of the potential consequences, he would not have deviated from the actions he had taken.  He would have made his way to the hangar, would have distracted Malcolm; would have put himself between the deranged human and the detective without a second thought.

The detective.  She was a set of questions all her own.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, willing the pressure to erase the recollection of reaching a bloody hand towards Malcolm, of wanting so desperately to keep the man from hunting down the detective, of lying on the floor paralyzed and worthless in the face of nauseating realization.  Lucifer’s death had guaranteed a return to Hell, a fate secured by the detective.  He had given up everything, traded _everything_ he fought so hard to acquire and maintain, in order to save her.

Why?

Lucifer shook himself from his reverie as he felt the familiar presence of his brother.  He glanced lazily over his shoulder, never making eye contact, and stepped to his right, silently extending the invitation before returning his attention to the city.  Amenadiel appeared in Lucifer’s peripheral, stiff in his movements.

“Humans have an interesting notion,” Lucifer started quietly, “that what goes around, comes around.”  He turned towards his brother, his eyes dark and menacing.  “How does it feel?” he asked bitterly.  “How does it feel to have Karma bite you in the ass?”

“There is no such thing, Lucifer; you know that.”  Amenadiel shook his head and gingerly settled his hand over his wounded side.  “But it hurts something awful.”

“Hmm.  Thought as much.”  Lucifer turned away.  He leaned on the railing again, his fingers uncomfortably tightening around the object.  His anger was bubbling closer to the surface, becoming harder to control, to ignore.  The muscles in his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.

“Say it, Brother,” Amenadiel said gently.

“Say what?”

“Say what’s on your mind.”  Lucifer let a long moment of silence pass.  There was so much, so many things he wanted and needed to say.  Yet one thing bothered him more than the rest.

“She is an innocent,” he replied.  “A bloody _child_.  Why are humans like this?  How can they so uncaringly hurt one another?” he bit sharply.  “Hurt a defenseless child?”

“I don’t know.”                

“She was so scared,” Lucifer whispered.  “Clinging to her mother’s side.  Her eyes…”  He tightly closed his own, fighting back the image of the young Decker child’s brown orbs, large and threatening to spill her tears.  “That little spark of life was gone; she looked…empty.”  He sighed heavily.  “And the detective…the fear on her face was sickening.”  He lifted his hand to his mouth, puffing several times on the end of the cigarette to ignite the embers on the verge of extinguishing.  “She was still affected,” he started, studying the lit end of the cigarette with a slight frown, “even once her child was safe in her arms.  There was nothing I could do to help her, to reassure her.”  Amenadiel dropped his gaze to the pebbled concrete beneath his feet.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.  The favor you asked of Father…”  He took a slow breath.  “You said you offered your services.  In exchange for what?”

“I told you that part doesn’t matter.”

“I think it matters greatly.”  He shifted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.  “Father knew Mother had escaped from Hell, but instead of reviving you and placing you in her presence, which He easily could have done, He left you in the hangar.”

“Indeed He did.”

“Why?” Amenadiel pressed.  Lucifer looked at his brother.

“Who am _I_ to say why Father does what He does?  It certainly _would_ have been more efficient to just drop me in Mum’s lap.”

“Lucifer.  What did you ask for?”  The fallen angel sighed heavily and dropped his head.

“I asked Father to protect the detective from Malcolm, and in exchange, I would return to Hell.  Willingly.”  Amenadiel nodded.  “Then after I died and found myself…well, you know the rest.”

“You traded your time here, your free will…for a human.”

“The child needs her mother,” Lucifer explained as he straightened from his lean.  “Detective Decker is the only parent she has now that Detective Espinoza has been incarcerated.”

“Lucifer—”

“You forget that I know what it’s like to be abandoned by a parent,” he quickly and loudly interrupted, pointing the fingers that held the cigarette at Amenadiel.  “She is _just a child_.”  His voice quieted, softened with a sadness.  “She doesn’t need to know that kind of pain.”  Lucifer watched the last flicker of fire across the tip of the cigarette burn out.

“And you woke in the hangar, just in time to save Chloe.”

“Yes.”

“Luci,” Amenadiel gently admonished.  “Half-truths,” he scolded.

“She’s different,” he whispered.  “The detective.  She isn’t affected by me as other humans are.”

“You’re not affected by other humans as you are her.”  Lucifer’s eyes quickly flicked to his brother’s features.  “The whole mortality stitch,” he explained.

“Yes,” he nodded.  “No one has ever made me vulnerable in such a way.”  He shook his head and let the snuffed cigarette fall to the floor.  “Yet that isn’t all.  I… _feel_ things around her I have never experienced.  I find myself…caring, about her, about the spawn.  I worry…I worry about her safety.  After Malcolm shot me, he went after the detective and I…”  He waved a dismissive hand and turned away.  “Other than my untimely demise, she’s all I could think about as I was on the floor dying.”  His hands slipped into his pockets and turned his gaze towards the city.  “I just…I don’t understand why she’s different, what purpose it serves.  And why me, hmm?”  He looked at Amenadiel.  “Why bestow the job of the detective’s protector to _me_ instead of doing as you suggested and leading me straight to Mother?”

“Father always has a plan.”  Amenadiel tipped his head.  “And you know how much He enjoys His riddles.”

“Yes,” Lucifer smiled gently.  “He has always had quite the panache for that type of torment, hasn’t He?”

“Torment,” he laughed lightly.  “You have never been one to learn the easy way, Brother.  These riddles are bumps in the road to slow you down a bit.”

“Well,” Lucifer huffed lightly.  “It isn’t working.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed.  “Lucifer, go.  Go see Chloe.”

“I can’t.”  He turned towards his brother and squared his shoulders.  “Mother has escaped; we need to plan—”

“Mother will need time to gather her strength.  We have time; we can start planning in the morning.  Go,” he urged.  Lucifer shook his head and turned away again.  “I thought you said you cared about Chloe.”

“She’s bloody irritating,” he mumbled.  “She drives me absolutely mad.”

“Dare I say I think you enjoy it,” Amenadiel teased.  “More than you care to admit.”  Lucifer turned to his brother, expression incredulous.

“No, you dare _not_ say that.  And I most certainly do _not_ enjoy it.”

“She drives you mad, yet you saved her life.  Not once, but _twice_ , Luci.”

“As infuriating as she may be, she doesn’t deserve any of the bad that’s come her way,” he answered quickly, avoiding the implications of his brother’s statement.  “I _know_ punishment, I _know_ who deserves it.  _She_ does not!”

“Is that _really_ why you saved her?”

“Well,” Lucifer started, “considering the top-notch job she is doing putting herself in danger’s way, she _clearly_ needs me.”

“I think you need her just as much.”  Lucifer’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward.

“The devil doesn’t _need_ anyone,” he said gently.

“Doesn’t he?  Lucifer.  Go,” he pleaded softly.

“I don’t…”  He released a long sigh.  “I don’t know if I should,” he admitted.

“When has that ever stopped you from doing what you want to do?” Amenadiel smiled.

“Never,” Lucifer answered slowly.  “And we have yet to establish that I _want_ to go.”  Amenadiel closed the space between them and placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders.

“Luci, why are you still standing here?”

**No Rest for the Wicked**

Lucifer stood quietly at the kitchen sink, sighing inwardly as he looked over the two paper plates on the counter, both holding small piles of chicken nuggets and fries.  He picked up a fry, frowning as it dangled limply from his fingers.  The food, clearly of the cheap and frozen variety, was largely untouched.  One plate sported a small splotch of ketchup, perfectly rounded across the top.  The moisture from the condiment had soaked into the plate, leaving a nearly opaque ring around the blob.  One of the chicken nuggets was smaller than the other four, partially eaten, and the only evidence of consumption from either plate.

Placing his hands in his pockets, he rounded the kitchen island and moved into the living area.  He hadn’t bothered knocking before entering the detective’s house, concerned that he may wake the child.  In the very long moment he had stared at the front door, he had decided he would rather deal with the berating “don’t break into my house” talk than the “it’s late, don’t wake up my kid” conversation.  He had not received either exchange, however, as upon entering the dwelling, he found the detective asleep on the sofa.

Chloe was huddled in the corner of the piece of furniture, in a position Lucifer could not believe comfortable.  He removed his suit jacket, placing it over the coffee table, and slowly, carefully, lowered himself to sit on the edge of the cushion, inserting himself into the curl of her body.  She held her arms close to her chest, bent her fingers into tight fists.  One had clutched a bunch of tissues; the other rested between her temple and the arm of the sofa.  Lucifer lifted his left hand and ghosted his fingers over her hair.  He gently caught the errant strands veiling her face and tucked them behind her ear.  The exhaustion and terror of the day remained distinctly etched in her features.  Her brow was creased, the skin around her eyes pink and puffy, obvious signs of a hard cry.  He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the sofa and unfolded it as he placed it over her.

“She cried a lot after we came home.”  Lucifer didn’t flinch, didn’t react as Trixie climbed into his lap.

“Is that so?” he asked quietly.

“Mm-hmm.”  She reached for his right hand and used it to draw his arm around her waist.  As she leaned back, resting her head against his shoulder, he gently tightened his hold on her.  “She started after I went to bed.  I don’t think I was supposed to hear it, but I couldn’t sleep.”  Her little shoulders shrugged.  He adjusted her position, dangling her legs off the right side of his lap, so he could see her face.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked.  She relaxed into his embrace as he wound his left arm around her back for support.

“I keep thinking about the bad man.”  She looked up at him.  “I was really scared.”

“I’m sure you were.  It’s all over now,” Lucifer soothed.  “There’s no need to be scared anymore.”

“I know.”  She offered a small, unconvincing smile.  “Mommy says we have to talk about Daddy tomorrow.  She says I can’t see him for a while.”  He nodded.  “I don’t know what that means.”

“I think that your mother is right; that is a conversation best saved for tomorrow.”  Trixie looked away, quiet for a moment before returning her eyes to his.

“You were hurt,” she stated.  “I saw the blood on your shirt.”

“Yes, I was hurt.  But, as I told your mother, I got better,” he smiled.

“Was it the same?” she asked as she absently played with the cuff of his white dress shirt.  “Like when Mommy shot you?”  A short, breathy laugh escaped Lucifer’s lips.

“No.”  He gently shook his head.  “No.  It was…quite different.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Oh, like a son of a…”  He looked down at her.  “A lot,” he amended.  “It hurt a lot.”

“Are you sure you’re better?”

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”  Trixie nodded.  “If I wasn’t better I would be at the hospital, right?”

“I guess.”  She lifted a hand to her mouth and yawned.

“Tried?”  She nodded again.  “Well, you should head off to bed then, eh?”

“I can’t sleep unless I’m tucked in.”  She met his eyes again, the sparkle returning to the depths of their color in a way that unnerved the devil.

“Right,” he said slowly.

“Lucifer, will _you_ tuck me in?”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“It’s okay,” she giggled.  “I’ll show you.”

“Uh, all right,” he agreed hesitantly.  “What do we do first?”

“We go in my room.”  Trixie lifted her arms and wound them around Lucifer’s shoulders.  His hesitation lasted only a moment before he understood what she wanted.  He stood and carried her to the bedroom.  As they passed through the doorway, she reached to the side and flipped up the light switch.

“Now what?”

“To my bed,” she answered.  He placed her gently on the mattress.  “Blankets next,” she instructed with a light sigh as she placed her head on the pillow.  He pulled the blankets over her body and sat on the edge of the bed.  She reached to her other side for a small stuffed dog.  “Can’t forget Pooch,” she stated.

“No, we cannot forget…the pooch.”

“Lucifer?  Mom said you saved her.  That you saved both of us.”

“I may…have helped a bit, yes.”  Trixie pulled herself out of the blankets and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.  He found his arms around her little body before he realized she had moved.  “Are you going to stay here tonight?”

“I, uh…I don’t know if your mother would appreciate that.”

“But I feel safe with you here.”  He pulled back to look at her face, the unease slowly seeping into her eyes.

“Then I shall stay,” he agreed.  “I’ll make you a deal.  You forget all about what happened today so you can sleep and I will stay here all night; make sure you and your mother are safe.”  She nodded.

“And you’ll make pancakes for breakfast?”  He regarded her for a moment, surprised she had not asked for chocolate.

“I will make pancakes for breakfast,” he conceded with a nod.

“With chocolate chips?”  _There it is_ , he thought amusedly.

“Sure,” he smiled.

“Great!  One thing left to do,” she said.

“Oh?”  Trixie nodded, framed Lucifer’s face with her small hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  “Oh,” he repeated quietly.

“Good night, Lucifer.”  She snuggled under her blankets and tightly held the stuffed animal as she closed her eyes.    

“Good night,” he whispered.  He stood and moved towards the door, pausing for a moment to watch as she yawned and twisted deeper into the blankets.  An odd sensation had taken residence somewhere deep inside of him upon hearing about the child’s kidnapping.  He couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t name it, but it was an ugly feeling.  Seeing the child reunited with her mother in the hangar had lessened the foreign sense, but seeing her now, peaceful in slumber in her own bed, all but vanished the feeling.  Lucifer released a long breath, turned off the light and quietly closed the door.

“Trixie.”  Chloe choked on a sharp breath as she scrambled to sit up so she could see her daughter’s bedroom.  “Lucifer?”  He lifted a finger to his mouth.

“Shh.  She was having trouble sleeping,” he said quietly.  “I just tucked her in.”

“You…you, Lucifer Morningstar, tucked Trixie into bed.”  He slipped his hands into his pants pockets and offered a gentle, yet proud smile.

“Indeed.”  Chloe opened her mouth then quickly closed it around a sigh.

“So many questions, so little time,” she mumbled.  “Speaking of, what time is it?”

“It’s late,” he answered, slowly walking towards the sofa.  “Or early.  Depends on how you want to see the glass.”  His chuckle was light, almost nervous.

“Lucifer?  What’s wrong?”

"I, like your daughter, could not sleep.”  She nodded and ran a hand through her tangled hair as she studied him.

“Sit down,” she said.  “You’re going to drive me crazy if you just stand there.”  He did as asked, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa from her.  She glanced at the cushion between them and then lifted her eyes as they narrowed.  “I don’t bite,” she said gently.  His smile was timid, small.

“Pity,” Lucifer said.  “I fancy a good chomp every now and again.”  Chloe smiled and shook her head.  She pulled the blanket from her body and crawled across the cushion towards him.  Turning herself to face him, she curled her legs to the right of her body.  Her arms wound around him as she leaned across him, resting her chin on his shoulder.  His eyes closed and he returned the embrace with a gentle sigh.

“Thank you,” she whispered.  “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t followed me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could have handled the situation.”  She pulled back a bit and raised an eyebrow at him.  “Or not,” he said slowly.  “At any rate, glad I could be of service.”

“Service,” she whispered.  “Lucifer, you saved my daughter.”  She shook her head.  “I can never repay you for that.”

“There is no need,” he said gently.  “Detective,” he started with a quiet scolding.  Lifting a hand, he wiped away the tears that trickled down her cheek.  “Do not cry,” he said before looking away.

“Lucifer, what’s wrong?” she asked again.  “Really, what’s bothering you?”

“I just…I needed to know the spawn was all right.”  He lifted his eyes to hers.  “That you are all right.”

“We’ll be fine,” she nodded slowly.  Her hand dropped from his shoulder and hesitantly touched his side.  “What about you?” she inquired quietly.

“Never better,” he answered.

“Lucifer,” she started.  He hummed and shook his head.

“Not now,” he said with a gentle smile.  “You need to rest.”

“But, I just—”

“No arguing, Detective.”  He shifted to his right, pushing Chloe into the back of the sofa as he rearranged their positions.  When they both settled and lying along the length of the sofa, he reached for the blanket, pulling it over their bodies and covering Chloe’s head.

“Lucifer,” she scolded with a gentle laugh.  He chuckled and finished tucking her between the left side of his body and the sofa as she pulled the blanket off her head.  He smoothed her hair from her face and curled his arm around her back.  “What are you doing?”

“Best get comfortable, Detective.  I’m not going anywhere for the remainder of nocturnal hours.”  She lifted her head slightly.

“Lucifer, you don’t have to stay.”

“Well, actually...”  He smiled as he met her eyes.  “That’s right.  You haven’t heard, have you?  I made a deal with your little hellion.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm-hmm.  She is to sleep and in return, I am to stay the night, to make sure the two of you are safe.”  He settled his head back against the arm of the sofa.  “And make pancakes with chocolate chips in the morning,” he added quickly.  She laughed.

“Tucking her in bed, making pancakes for breakfast,” she chided.  “How long has she had you wrapped so tightly around her little finger?”  _Not as long as her mother_ , he thought.  Lucifer circled his fingers around Chloe’s wrist and placed her hand on his chest.

“We simply made a deal, nothing more.”  His hand flattened over the top of hers.

“If you say so.”

“I do.”  She settled her head on his shoulder and he let his head roll to rest his cheek against the top of her head.

“Lucifer?”

“Yes, Darling?”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

“As am I.”  An easy peacefulness developed around them and Chloe’s breathing evened out and slowed.  Though she had relaxed into his warmth, he could feel the bit of tension that refused to leave her body.  He released a slow, calming breath as his fingers skimmed absently across the back of her hand.  His eyes fluttered to a close as he realized the chaos of his thoughts had quieted.

**Stage One – Denial**

“So you haven’t seen Chloe in almost three weeks?” Linda asked as she adjusted her glasses.

“That is correct,” Lucifer answered, nodding his head slowly.  He played with the buttons of his cuffs, gently bounced his knee.  “I’ve been busy with my…business.  And the detective…well, she’s been forced to take some time off and…”  He released a breath and briefly lifted his eyes as he offered a fake smile.  “She’s been otherwise preoccupied.”

“With her ex,” she said knowingly.  “And her daughter.”  His eyes drifted to a spot on the floor, his gaze becoming distant; his features passive.

“Yes,” he answered quietly.

“I know you’ve been…reluctant to talk about Trixie’s kidnapping, but I think it’s time we did.  Lucifer,” she started, “you know what happened was not your fault.”  His eyes quickly flicked up to meet hers.

“Of course it wasn’t my fault,” he bit as he stood.  Slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he starting pacing the room.  “ _I_ did not bring Malcolm back from the abyss of death.  _I_ did not corrupt him nor did I lead him on with the notion of killing those people.”  He stopped near the covered window and dropped his head.  “Of kidnapping the child.”

“But you feel guilty, don’t you?”  He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes as he peered into the thin gap between the blind slats.

“Why would I feel guilty over something I did not cause?” he mused.  “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Let me ask you a question.  Can you see the future?”  Lucifer slowly turned back to her, a strong look of disbelief on his face.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Can you see the future?” she repeated.  “Humor me,” she said when he did not answer.

“No, I cannot see the future.”

“So let’s pretend you can.  What would you have done differently, knowing Malcolm was going to kill the two young adults and the preacher?”

“Well, I would have stopped him.”  He returned to the sofa, sitting on the edge of the cushion.  “Before he had opportunity to do harm.”

“And what would you have done differently, knowing he was going to kidnap Trixie?”  He rested his elbows on his bent knees and clasped his hands.

“I would have seen to the spawn’s safety and then taken out that stain of a human.”

“But you couldn’t do that, could you?”

“No, of course not.  I didn’t know he was going to…”  His eyes brows lifted.  “Oh.”

“We _can_ feel guilty over someone else’s actions,” she explained.  “Second-guessing ourselves – Is there something I missed?  Is there something I could have done differently? – is perfectly natural and normal.”

“Yes,” he said.  “Hindsight and all.”

“Exactly.  It serves as a coping mechanism.”  She shifted in her chair and crossed her legs.

“A coping mechanism.”  He considered her words as a small frown played across his brow.  “This…whatever I’m feeling…”  He held up a finger.  “I’m not ready to call it guilt…this is because I wasn’t able to protect the detective and her child?”

“Not protect.”  She shook her head.  “You _did_ protect them, Lucifer.  You _saved_ them.  Prevent,” she said.  “You couldn’t _prevent_ it from happening.”  He nodded slowly.

“Right.”

“Do you think you would be feeling…whatever you’re feeling if you would have been able to stop Malcolm?”

“No, of course not.”  He sat back, his eyes shifting from one side to the other as he further considered her words.  “Interesting.”

“You’re looking for reassurance,” she stated.  “Reassurance that you did everything possible to help.”

“And I did,” he nodded.  “I did everything I could.”

“I know you did,” she smiled warmly.  “Lucifer, you said you haven’t seen Chloe, but have you talked to her since that night?  Left a voicemail or sent a text to see how she and her daughter are doing?”

“I stayed at the detective’s house that night, made pancakes for the child the next morning, but I have not spoken to her since then.”

“Why not?”

“I…”  He closed his mouth around a sigh.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Are you scared?”  He focused on his pants and brushed at his knee, sweeping at something that wasn’t there.

“I don’t think ‘scared’ in an appropriate term,” he answered after a moment.

“What would you call it?”

“Nervous,” he offered.  “Worried, maybe.”

“About what?”

“I don’t want to be a reminder of what happened.”  He looked at Linda.  “Especially to the child.”

“And you think your presence will upset her?”  He nodded.  “You played an important part in what happened to Trixie, Lucifer.  A _good_ part.  You saved her and her mother.”

“Yes.  That doesn’t stop her from remembering the bad parts though, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed.  “But in order to heal and move forward, the bad parts have to be considered just as much as the good parts.  Nothing is really gained by denying our experiences.”  Linda crossed her wrists over her notebook and tipped her head to the side.  “Lucifer, if you were to see Chloe right now, if she were to walk through that door, what is the first thing you would feel?”  He frowned in question.  “Would you feel trepidation over the danger she faced?  Or would you feel an…overall good feeling to be near her?”

“If I were to see the detective right now,” he started, carefully choosing his words, “I would be…delighted.”

“Is it difficult to believe that she or Trixie would feel the same delight in seeing you?  When you think about Chloe, do you immediately think of that night?”

“No,” he answered.  “Every now and then, as it were, but there are…other moments, fond moments, that come to mind.  So you’re saying my absence may be detrimental to the detective and her daughter.”  Linda nodded gently.

“We heal better when we have other people around us, people who remind us about the good parts of a bad situation.”

“Misery does indeed love company,” he mused quietly.

“Well, that’s…that’s not quite what I mean, but sure.”  She smiled softly.  “I have…homework for you, Lucifer.”  He narrowed his eyes, a nervous look crossing his features.  “I can’t say too much, patient confidentiality, of course, but I want you to talk to Chloe’s daughter.  I want you to talk to Trixie.  She has…something she wants to show you.”

“What is it?” he asked wearily.

“You should ask Chloe; she can explain it to you.  I think it will be beneficial not only to Trixie, but to you, as well.”  Lucifer nodded slowly.

“Very well.”

**Lucifer**

 “Hey, Lucifer,” Chloe greeted as she opened the door.

“Good morning, Detective.”  He smiled and accepted her silent invitation to enter.

“Lucifer!”  Trixie’s high-pitched excitement stopped the devil in his tracks as he crossed the threshold.  He heaved a sigh and lifted his arms, preparing for the coming charge of weight against his body.  He rocked slightly in his place as short arms wrapped around his waist.  Chloe hid her smile as she closed the door and started towards the stove.

“Yes, hello, child.”  His fingers curled nervously as he surveyed his situation, contemplated the easiest and quickest way to extract the small being from his form.  “Is this really necessary?” he asked.  “ _Every_ time I see you?”

“You’re funny,” Trixie laughed.

“So you keep saying.”  He lifted his gaze and waved a hand, catching the attention of the woman across the room.  “Anything you can offer in the way of assistance would be appreciated, Detective.”  Chloe simply smiled.

“Sorry,” she said with a shrug.  “I’m making pancakes.”

“Pancakes.”  He faked a smile.  “How delightful.  Is that all you eat?” he asked, looking down at Trixie.  “No wonder she’s so small, Detective.”  A deep frowned appeared across his brow as the grin on Trixie’s face widened.

“Do _you_ want pancakes, Lucifer?”

“Uh, no, thank you.”

“Aw, come on,” she goaded.  “Just one.”  She took a deep breath.  “Please?”  He rolled his eyes as she slowly released a breath around the vowel of the word.  When her lungs ran out of air, she sucked in another deep breath and started again.

“Begging the devil to eat pancakes,” he tsked.  “This is something new.”  He watched an amused smile float across Chloe’s face.  “Fine, child.”  Lucifer placed his fingers over her mouth, silencing her plea.  “I will have _one_ pancake.”

“Yea!”

“Trixie, why don’t you go to your room and finish combing your hair?” Chloe asked.  “Pancakes will be ready in a minute.”

“Yes, Mommy.”  Lucifer shook his head as he watched the young girl run through the open kitchen and into her bedroom.

“How do you handle having that thing wrapped around you at all times of the day?” he asked with a look of disgust on his face.

“That ‘thing’ is my daughter, Lucifer.  And I love her.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”  Chloe flipped two of the pancakes.

“Lucifer,” she started quietly as she looked up at him.  “If you don’t want to do this…”

“Nonsense,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand.  “Dr. Linda said you needed my help, so here I am.”  She nodded and returned her attention to the pan. 

“Did she tell you why?”

“Not in so many words.  She eluded to it involving your spawn; said I should ask you for the details.”  He slowly moved towards her, a confused concern on his face.  “Detective?”  He reached for her, his fingers skimming the sleeves of her shirt.  “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.  “It’s just…”  She sighed gently and offered a small smile.  “It’s nice to see you, Lucifer.”  With a slow nod, she met his eyes.  “I’ve missed my partner.”

“As have I,” he said, returning her smile.

“I want to show Lucifer my pictures,” Trixie said as she returned to the kitchen.

“After breakfast, okay?” Chloe started.

“’Kay.”  She ran to the table and climbed on a chair.

“Pictures?” Lucifer questioned.  Chloe raised an eyebrow.

“After breakfast,” she repeated with a smirk.

“Yes, _Mother_ ,” he replied.  He moved to the table and took a seat across from Trixie, suspiciously eyeing her as she sent a toothless smile in his direction.  Chloe set a plate with three pancakes covered in syrup in front of Trixie, and a plate with a solitary pancake in front of Lucifer.  He watched as Trixie adjusted her positon to sit on bent legs as she immediately shoved her fork into her breakfast.  “One would think this is the only meal she has during the day,” he commented as Chloe took a seat between them at the head of the table.  “She’s ravenous.”

“Yeah, she gets like this when she has a growth spurt.”  She held a small bottle towards Lucifer.  “Syrup?” she offered.

“Maybe later,” he replied.

“Later?”

“Well, let’s just say this isn’t quite the sticky mess I’d prefer.”  He winked and slipped a bite of pancake into his mouth.

“Gross,” Chloe muttered as she rolled her eyes.  Breakfast moved rather quickly, Trixie hastily devouring her food, Lucifer and Chloe merely picking at their solitary pancakes.  They exchanged short glances, soft yet sad, uncomfortable smiles.  He had dearly missed being in the detective’s presence, though he still didn’t feel that he belonged by her side quite yet.  Despite Linda’s reassurances, he believed he would be nothing more than an ugly reminder to the small one, and knew, in turn, that would affect her mother.

“Mommy, can I show Lucifer my pictures now?”

“Sure, Monkey.  Why don’t you get them ready?”  Her eyes tracked her daughter’s movement through the house then turned back to Lucifer once the little girl had entered her room.  “Trixie has…”  She quietly cleared her throat and nervously tapped her fingers on the tabletop.  “Trixie has been isolating herself in her room.  She won’t talk to me about what happened with Malcolm.  But she’s been…drawing these pictures.”

“If she won’t talk to you,” Lucifer started, “how do you know about the pictures?”

“I snooped,” she admitted with a small smile.  “I just wanted to know that she was doing all right.  I talked to Dr. Martin, had her speak with Trixie.  She told Linda that she wanted to share the pictures.  With you.  Linda thought that if you were…okay with…maybe Trixie would talk about…”

“Detective,” he interrupted gently, placing his hand over hers.  “My own personal showing, eh?”

“Yeah.”  Chloe smiled.  “I guess.”

“Then how can I refuse?”  His fingers curled softly around her hand.  “I would be happy to view the pictures, Detective.”

“Thank you, Lucifer.”

“I’m ready!  I’m ready!” Trixie yelled as she bounced into the kitchen.  She stood between Lucifer and her mother, hands gripping the backs of their chairs.  “Are you ready, Lucifer?”

“Indeed, I am.”  He pushed back his chair and tried not to cringe as Trixie took his hand.  He let her drag him halfway to her room before he turned towards Chloe.  _You owe me,_ he mouthed with a smile.  Chloe laughed and shook her head.

“Not a chance,” she called after him.  Trixie released his hand as they entered her room.  He immediately noticed a thick stack of papers on her bed.

“These are your pictures?” he asked, surprised by the size of the pile.

“Yep.”  He sat on the edge of the mattress as she gathered a few papers from the top of the mound.  She crawled onto his lap, holding the picture for both of them to see.  “This is the man I don’t like,” she started, pointing at an unproportioned figure with orange hair and an overly drawn orange mustache.  “That’s Mommy.”  She had clearly taken great care in drawing her mother.  The lines were cleaner, the color contained.  “And that’s you.”

“I see.”  The eyebrows, he believed, were thicker than the real pair, but the scruff she had drawn around his chin seemed appropriate.  A large splotch of red snagged his attention.  It rested on the left side of the drawing’s body and travelled well beyond the penciled confines of the blue shirt and black coat.

“Mommy thought you died,” she said.  “I heard her whisper it to you.  And I saw it happen.  But when I asked her about it…”  She lifted her eyes to his.  “I know what really happened.”

“Do you now?” Lucifer asked cautiously.  Trixie leaned forward and placed the picture on the mattress.

“Mommy told me that you could do tricks.  That you’re like a magician.”  She pointed to the next picture in her hands.  Three figures adorned this sheet as well, three unmistakably of him.  The first one had the telltale spot of red and an ‘x’ in place of each eye.  The second had a pointed purple hat with a yellow star stretched across the front, a matching purple cape, and a black stick in one hand.  The third was a fresh picture of Lucifer, no blood or dead eyes, surrounded by sparkling confetti-like marks of several colors of crayon.  She smiled as he looked at her.  Delight glittered her eyes.  “That was a pretty neat trick.”

The detective’s denial of his true form made a bit of sense to him.  All the things she had witnessed, the things she “couldn’t explain”, she couldn’t very well deny something she wouldn’t allow herself to see.  Yet the young child, she had witnessed his death, had _acknowledged_ the occurrence, and had placed that knowledge under the guise of a magic act.  The embodiment of denial, wrapped in a tiny, messy-haired, toothless human.

“Why…thank you,” he nodded.

“Trixie!” Chloe called from the kitchen.  “Kylie’s mom is here!”

“I gotta go to school.”  Trixie hopped to the floor and placed the pictures on the pile.  “Can we look at some more later?”

“Of-of course.”  She leaned into him and wrapped her arms tightly around his body.

“I was really scared,” she said quietly.  “But I’m not scared when you’re with me.  Thank you for looking at my pictures.  Bye, Lucifer!”

“Good-bye, small one,” he called lightly as she left the room.  Turning his attention to the stack, he rummaged through the rest of the papers.  The pictures told the entire story of that day, from her abduction from school to her mother sleeping on the sofa, curled in Lucifer’s arms.

“I thought she was sleeping at that point.”  Lucifer smiled gently and turned towards Chloe where she stood in the doorway.

“As did I.”

“I guess your tucking-in skills need some work.”

“Detective, I…”  He looked at the two papers still clutched in his hands.  She gently shook her head, waving away the apology he tried to make.  Sitting next to him on the mattress, she took the magician picture from him.

“This is her way of coping, of explaining what she doesn’t understand.”  She bit at her bottom lip.  “I’m just happy she’s sharing.  Even if it’s only with you,” she joked.  “Lucifer?  I’ve been…I’m going back to work tomorrow.  I have a…cold case to work on.”  She lifted her eyes to his.  “Are you…I mean, do you want to…come back and…”

“Work with you?  Of course I do,” he answered quietly with a gentle smile.  Chloe returned the smile and then turned her eyes to the picture in her hand.  “You’d look good in a purple cape,” she commented.

“Hmm.”  He lifted his eyebrows, his face hopeful.  “In _only_ a purple cape?”

**Stage Two – Anger**

Maze had disappeared, absent for nearly two weeks, after Malcolm had attacked Amenadiel.  She had been quiet upon her return, respectful, obedient.  Subdued.  Yet her new demeanor had lasted only a couple of days, quickly waning after she had learned of Lucifer’s death and his mother’s escape from Hell.  Lucifer had paid close attention to the changes in his demon, collected them; studied them, as she had progressed to an opposite extreme.

The changes had come rather rapidly, starting with the after-after parties.  The first night, Maze had gathered two beautiful young women and had escorted them to Lucifer’s penthouse.  The second night, she had rounded up the Brittanys, yet, in an uncharacteristic moment, had declined to join the group.  The third night, there had been no women, Maze simply claiming the thought had slipped her mind.  _“Surely the devil can find his own playmates,”_ she had said.  The words she had uttered had not bothered Lucifer, as he certainly was capable of finding bedmates.  The snip in her tone, however, had pricked at the back of his mind.  She had always been blunt, yet her candor was somehow sharper, more…bitter.  It was a tone she knew better than to take with him.

The following morning as he had descended the stairs into Lux, he had noticed there was no music.  Music had always played at all hours, loudly during the night, and at a lower volume during the day, even as the bar sat closed to the public.  Lucifer had always found amusement in Maze’s late morning routine.  She would dance around, moving the leather-clad curves of her body to the steady beat of the music as she tidied the bar and stocked the liquor.  She had a purposeful subtly to her actions, one she teasingly directed towards him, one he appreciated.  One, now in absence, he missed terribly.

Six days had passed since the first day sans music, and in those six days, Maze had not spoken to Lucifer.  At first, she had acknowledged his presence and his requests with a nod.  Then she had started answering with a roll of her eyes.  Then she had stopped responding altogether.  He knew she was angry, he knew _why_ she was angry.  He would have let it go, would have dismissed the behavior seeing as Maze was never one to hold back her thoughts, but he had recognized the signs she had displayed throughout the week.  She wanted a fight, and for some reason, that pissed him off.  _He_ was the one shot.  _He_ was the one who had died.  _He_ was the one who deserved the belligerent anger.

Not one to deny those what they desired, though, the devil was all too willing to oblige his demon.

Lucifer tapped the bottom corner of his lighter against the top of the bar, the click awkwardly sharp in the quiet expanse of the main room.  He watched as Maze paced the length of the counter behind the bar, fiddling with a bottle here, fiddling with a stack of glasses there.  Her tinkering was merely pretense, an excuse to keep her back to him, to ignore him.  He would not allow that.  He rolled the cuffs of his white dress shirt to his elbows and took a slow drag from his cigarette.  Exhaling quietly, he tapped the lighter again.

“Stop that,” Maze barked over her shoulder.

“Ah,” he started, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.  “She _does_ speak.”  He cocked his head to the side and offered several quick taps of the metal.  She growled and muttered several curse words under her breath.  “I get it; you’re angry,” he stated.  She slowly turned towards him, fingers tightening around the full bottle of whiskey in her hand.  The force of her grip shattered the bottle, sending a burst of brown liquid and glass to the floor.  He cleared his throat and nodded.  “Okay, _really_ angry.”

“What gives you that impression?”  Her voice and her features were calm, holding none of the fury that radiated off the rest of her body.

“Call it a hunch,” he joked lamely.  Maze moved to stand in front of him, slowly tapping her long nails on the bar top as her eyes narrowed.

“You’re damn right I’m angry,” she spat tightly.

“Do tell.”

“You died, Lucifer.  _Died!_   And at the hands of a _mortal_.”

“Indeed I did.”  He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a long sip of alcohol.  “And yet, here I am.  Good as new,” he said with a smile.

“Until you put yourself in danger’s way again.”  He huffed a quiet laugh as he pressed the lit end of the cigarette against the bottom of the glass ashtray.  “Don’t give me that look,” she scolded.  “You _will_ do it again.”

“Think that little of me, do you?”  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar top.

“You have no control,” she said in a slow taunt.  He tipped his head in question.

“I am _always_ in control, Maze.”

“Are you?  Are you in control of your mortality when you’re around Decker?  No, you’re not,” she said quickly, not allowing him the opportunity to answer.

“Yes, well, we still do not know what’s causing that little glitch.”

“First of all, it isn’t a _little_ glitch.  Second, yes, we do know what causes it.  Chloe Decker causes it.”  She shook her head slowly.  “And you, you just can’t help yourself, can you?”  The corner of her mouth lifted in a snide smile.  “You can’t stop yourself from following your little pet human.  Actually, she isn’t the pet, is she?  You are.”

“I do what I please, Maze.  And if spending my time with the detective is what I please, then so be it.”

“Lucifer, this isn’t funny.  What if this happens again?  What if you die _again_?”  She shook her head.  “Are you going to come back?”

“That’s a very good question.”  He lifted the glass to his mouth and swallowed the remainder of the liquid.  “One to which I do not have the answer.”  Maze shoulders dropped and her features fell into an incredulous glare as Lucifer simply smiled widely, teasing, pushing.

“How can you just sit there and…”  She straightened her posture.  “You’re the _devil_ ,” she hissed, gesturing towards him.  “You’re suppose to be powerful, dominant.”

“Suppose to be?”

“Yeah.  _Suppose to be_.  But you’re not.”  She huffed and ran her tongue across the bottom of her top teeth.  “You’re weak,” she spat as she folded her arm in front of her chest.  “And _foolish._   At the mercy of a mortal woman.”  She tsked.  “Cut the damn cord, Lucifer.”

“Nope.”  He let the last consonant pop off his lips before offering a defiant smile.

“You could have anyone you want, Lucifer.  _Everyone_ if you want.  Why can’t you stay away from this one?”

“Well, what kind of devil would I be if I didn’t explore my own temptation?”

“Unbelievable,” she scoffed as she walked away.  Lucifer turned his attention to his lighter.  He held opposite corners between his thumb and middle finger, and used the index finger of his other hand to turn it slowly.

“There are a lot of questions I have about that night, Maze,” he started after a moment.  “But there is one in particular I have been, pardon the expression, _dying_ to ask _you_.”  She turned to him, wary of the change of his tone.

“That being?” she asked carefully.

“Where _were_ you?” he asked quietly.  “Hmm?  Where was my protector when I needed protecting?”  He lifted his eyes, dark with anger.  “Where was my protector when that broken little human aimed his gun at me and pulled the trigger?  Oh, that’s right!” he laughed suddenly, loudly.  He abruptly stood and leaned forward, startling the normally fearless demon as he slammed both palms onto the bar.  “Off fucking my brother!”

“I was _saving_ your brother!” she yelled in return.

“Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”  He laughed again, a low chuckle that frightened her.  “You exist to protect _me_ , Maze, not to save my brother.  You should have been by _my_ side, saving _me_ , _not_ Amenadiel.”  He shook his head as he returned to a seated position.  “And with one of _my_ feathers, no less.”

“Lucifer, I—”

“You should have stayed in Hell.”  He sat back in the stool, his forearm resting along the edge of the bar top as his fingers played with his empty glass.  “You’re little use to me here.”  He licked his lips as his eyes dropped to take in her thin figure.  “And what you _can_ offer, I can find in billions of other places.”  She folded her arms over the bar top, leaning towards him as she quietly spoke her words.

“If I would have known,” she started slowly, “that you were going to turn into a pathetic, human-loving pussy—”  Glass shattered behind Maze as Lucifer’s tumbler hit the back wall.  She found herself on her back, her skin pressed into the cold of the marble bar top, before the clear, jagged shards of glass had opportunity to hit the floor.  Lucifer’s long fingers tightly wound around her throat, his eyes burned red.  “I would…not have followed…you,” she finished with a choked sound.  “You’ve…changed.”  Her hands closed around his wrists as she twisted her body in an attempt to free herself.

“Change or no change,” he hissed as he leaned over her, “I am _still_ the devil, _still_ your master!”

“No,” she coughed.  “You’re… _nothing_ …to me.”

“Do _not_ forget your place!”

“My place?” she sputtered through a constricted laugh.  “I have…no…place with…you.”

“Lucifer!  That’s enough!”  The devil laughed as a deep voice carried through the empty bar.

“Come to save your little bed buddy, Bro?”  Lucifer’s grip tightened around Maze’s neck as Amenadiel approached the pair.

“Stop, Brother,” he pleaded as the demon’s struggle became desperate.  He moved behind Lucifer and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.  “Go upstairs and cool off.”  Lucifer threw back his shoulder, forcing his brother a few steps backwards and then leaned farther over Maze until their faces were a mere inch apart.

“I should kill you,” he said.

“Brother!”  Amenadiel yelled.  Lucifer backed off and smoothed his hand over the front of his shirt.

“I won’t kill you.”  He turned to Amenadiel.  “And _not_ because you don’t want me to do so.”  Flicking his gaze back to the demon he frowned angrily.  “Because _you_ are _not_ worth my time.”

    

**Stage Three - Bargaining**

The elevator doors opened much too slowly for Lucifer’s patience and he turned sideways to squeeze through them.  He made his way to the bar, thankful the construction crew had been able to come and repair the damaged liquor wall just a day after his little scuffle with Amenadiel.  More than thankful that his supplier had been willing to deliver all the necessary bottles of alcohol mere minutes after the construction crew had vacated the penthouse.  Benefits of being such a good customer, Lucifer mused as he surveyed the wall.  After grabbing an empty glass and a bottle of scotch, Lucifer moved to the sofa.  He dropped heavily onto the cushions and settled the glass between his knees.

“Go upstairs and cool off,” he repeated in a mocking tone as he twisted off the metal top of the bottle.  “Maybe everyone else needs to cool off.”  Pressing the neck of the bottle against his palm with his index finger, he extended the other fingers to take hold of the glass.  “How dare they speak to me in such a fashion?”  Lucifer filled the glass halfway and lifted it to his mouth, pausing when a soft ping signaled the arrival of the elevator.  “Amenadiel,” he greeted with feigned enthusiasm.  “Is Maze finished with you already?”  The glass touched his lips and he took a healthy draw of the liquid inside.

“You know, Brother,” Amenadiel started as he crossed the penthouse floor, “there’s no need to take out your anger on Maze.”  Lucifer rolled his eyes and leaned forward to place the bottle on the floor.  “She isn’t responsible for any of this.”

“Not this again,” Lucifer mumbled as he capped the bottle.

“If you’re going to be angry with someone, be angry with me.”

“Yes.”  Lucifer looked up towards his brother as he settled against the back of the sofa.  “It is, after all, _entirely_ your fault.”

“Yes, it is.”  Amenadiel hung his head.  “I have not only failed Father, but you as well, Brother.”

“Oh, Amenadiel,” he laughed lowly as he crossed his legs.

“If I had held my anger in check…if I hadn’t brought Malcolm out of Hell…”  His eyes closed, forcing the gathering tears to trickle down his dark cheeks.  “If I had been smarter about my mission.”

“Yes, yes,” Lucifer said, absently waving his hand.  “If only you had out-smarted the devil.”  He took another drink of scotch.  “As if that’s possible,” he murmured.

“I’ve prayed _so_ much, asked Father for another chance, for another opportunity.”  Amenadiel’s fists clenched at his sides.  “One chance to do it over, to do it the _right_ way.  I _can_ be the son He wants me to be; do what He wishes as He wishes.  As I should have done the first time around.”

“You’ve been at this all week.  ‘Father this’ and ‘Father that’, begging for the ultimate mulligan.”  Lucifer raised his eyebrows.  “Has He given it to you?”

“No,” Amenadiel answered quietly.  “He has not.”

“Huh.  Well, no surprise, really.”  He tipped the glass to his lips and finished the drink.  “Seems to me He never answers anyone.  So, no use in continuing this grandest of pity parties.  Don’t get me wrong,” he started, lifting a finger from the glass to point at Amenadiel, “I won’t deny you the guilt or soften the self-loathing, Brother; you deserve to wallow in every bit of it.  Let’s save the drama for another day though, hmm?  I’ve had quite enough of your sobbing.  What’s done is done.  Time to move on.”

“What’s done is done,” Amenadiel agreed with a gentle nod.  “Yet there is one thing…”

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” Lucifer muttered.  “Please don’t.”

“Brother, please,” he started as he moved closer to the sofa.

“No,” the devil answered curtly.

“Luci.”  Amenadiel dropped to his knees in front of Lucifer.  He closed his eyes as he dropped his head, and spread his arms to his sides, palms facing up.  “I am humbled before you.  I am truly sorry for everything I have done to hurt you.  Please, Brother.  I ask for your forgiveness.”

“Well, you will not get it.  In case it has escaped your memory, I am the devil.  I do not forgive; I punish.”

“Then punish me.”  He looked at his brother.  “It is my fault you died.  My fault the detective and her daughter were in danger.  My fault—”

“Enough!”  Lucifer stood suddenly, his movement sending Amenadiel onto his back.  “You do _not_ have my forgiveness, Brother!  Stop asking!”  He looked at the empty glass in his hand for a moment.  “Besides,” he started quietly, “I am not the one you should be begging.”  He bent down and retrieved the bottle from the floor, and then moved through a wide gait, stepping over his brother’s legs.

“You’re right.”  Amenadiel nodded as he stood.  “You’re right.  I need to talk to Chloe.”

“Whatever,” Lucifer sighed dismissively.

“Lucifer, can you arrange the meeting for me?”

“Detective Decker has been incredibly busy taking care of the spawn, now that the little one has been traumatized by your carelessness.”  He looked over his shoulder at his brother.  “I doubt she would have time for your blubbering.”  He poured a second drink before returning the bottle to its place on the glass shelf.  “Of course, she doesn’t believe that I am the devil so good luck in convincing her that you’re an angel.”  He took a long drink and then laughed.  “Detective, I am an angel.  I brought a dead man back to life, a man who happened to be a crooked cop that nearly killed you once, to murder your partner, who happens to be the devil, so he could go back to Hell.”  Lucifer turned and pinned his brother with narrowed eyes.  “And I didn’t give two shits about those he may have sought to murder on the side.  Not the two young people from the cult, not he misguided street preacher, not you, and certainly,” he said slowly, “ _not_ your daughter.”

“Lucifer, I see the error of my ways.”

“Of course you do,” he nodded.  “ _Now._   Maybe you should try finding the error _before_ making the mistake, not after.  You know, think it through, first.”  Lucifer’s eyes grew dark and serious as he scowled.  “Had any harm come to that young child, mind you not even Father would have been able to save you from the detective’s wrath.”

            

**Stage Four – Depression**

Lucifer crossed one foot over the other, resting it on the tip of his polished black shoe.  Folding his arms in front of his chest, he leaned his right shoulder against the doorframe.  The scene before him was a bloody mess.  Literally.  Blood splatter adorned the ivory colored walls, the white ceiling, the oak nightstands.  It soaked the once light green comforter, trickling onto the floor from a few places along the hem, flowing solidly from others, as though the blanket itself was slowly releasing its own precious life.  The blood collected in splotches across the tan carpet, bright with wet red in the centers, dull with dried brown around the perimeters.  It dripped with an oddly languid peace from the delicate fingers of the female hand dangling from the edge of the mattress.  The smell was unmistakable, the scent familiar to him in a way he never expected to know.  It was thin and coppery, fresh yet tainted.

It tasted exactly as it smelled.

Pushing the thought from his mind, Lucifer studied the woman’s fingers.  They were grey beneath the stain of red, her skin pale and dull.  Her brown hair darker than usual and matted to her head.  Her lips were blue, and her eyes wide and glossy.  They housed the epitome of fear.  A specific fear.  A gut-wrenching uncertainty, an onslaught of physical sensations, a panicked dissection of emotions.  An anxiety about the people left behind.  Lucifer sympathized with the woman.  Those who truly believed, those who did not, even those that _knew_ …all of them, susceptible to the fear of death.

He was no exception.

His gaze shifted from the woman’s empty blue eyes to fully view of her body surrounded by the angry red aura of her blood.  The cotton purple nightgown she wore bore the tale of her attack, each slit in the fabric framing a dark, jagged breach of her skin.  She looked scared, defeated, weak.  Helpless.  He wondered if he had appeared that way after dying on the cold concrete floor of the hangar.  Is that what the detective would have seen had Father not returned him to the earthly plane?

Lucifer released an uneasy breath and turned his attention towards Chloe where she stood on the other side of the room.  She flawlessly directed the forensics team around the crime scene.  Blue latex gloves lined the fingers that pointed out areas in need of marking, in need of preserving.  Areas that, seemingly unimportant, piqued her curiosity.  Though she maintained her on-the-job appearance of composure and control, Lucifer knew she was nothing of the sort inside.  Perhaps no one else could see past the expected professionalism.  Perhaps no one, at this ridiculously early human hour, cared.  Lucifer cared thought, and he could see everything, every small clue, every subtle hint in her features, in her postures, in her gait and her speech that eluded to her exhaustion.

He watched with a pained expression as Chloe turned her back to the crew, closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her wrist along her forehead.  She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly.  When her eyes opened, she looked up to the ceiling, blinking furiously.  Lucifer pushed off the doorframe and carefully made his way through the room, through the crowd of people.  He stood behind Chloe and placed his hands on her shoulders.  The tension beneath his fingers was tight and incredible.  Turning her towards him, he lifted his eyebrows and immediately pinned her with a look that stopped any argument she may have had to his unspoken words.  She sighed and nodded.

Lucifer led Chloe through the dwelling and to the quiet safety of her car.  He leaned the back of his hips against the driver’s door and pulled a cigarette and a lighter from his pockets as she paced a slow, short length in front of him.  He placed the cigarette between his lips and with a flick of his thumb, the lighter spit to life.  Lifting the flame to the end of the cigarette, he puffed three times to ignite the end of the rolled paper.

“Lucifer,” Chloe started quietly, “I know what you’re going to say.  Please don’t.”  He exhaled slowly.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”  She stopped pacing and met his eyes.  “I wasn’t,” he defended.  She nodded and moved towards him.  Her fingers pinched around the filter of the cigarette, taking it from his hand.

“You were,” she argued weakly before bringing the cigarette to her mouth.  She took a deep drag and handed it back to him.  “It’s not what you’re thinking.  I know it’s not the same.”  He watched the puff of smoke leave her lips in a tight line.

“I know you know that, Detective.  Yet I don’t think you believe it.”

“You’re talking in circles,” she accused lightly.

“Not at all.  Your logical self knows it’s different, but your heart…”  He tipped his head slightly.  “Tell me I’m wrong.”  He lifted his hand, offering the cigarette.

“You’re wrong.”  She grabbed the cigarette and took another drag as she resumed her pacing.  Lucifer slid his hands into his pockets, amused and equally disturbed by the detective’s behavior.  “It’s not the same,” she mumbled as her lips closed around the filter again.  “Not the same.  I mean…”  She exhaled sharply.  “You’re here, right?”  She looked in his direction but did not meet his eyes.  “And he’s gone; Malcolm is gone.  It’s not the same.”  She lifted her free hand and wiped away the tears spilling over her lashes.

“Detective.”  He pushed off the car and moved to stand in front of her, stopping her movements.  “Maybe there is someone else available to work this case,” he suggested carefully.

“There’s no need,” she said with a shake of her head.  “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” he argued.  “What did you see in there?” he asked, pointing towards the house.

“Nothing, Lucifer.”  He hooked a finger under her chin and forced her eyes to his.

“What did you see?” he repeated gently.

“It’s not the same,” she replied weakly.  “You’re here, right here.  You’re not…”

“Dead?” he supplied.  She nodded.  “No, I’m not.”  His fingers traced the outline of her ear as he brushed the hair from her face.  “Let’s call in another detective.  Then I am taking you home and you are taking a few days off.”

“Lucifer, I can’t just—”

“You can.  Leave the details to me.”  He offered a gentle smile.

“Okay,” she whispered.  He held out his hand, waiting patiently as she pulled her phone from her pocket and placed it on his palm.

“Thank you.”  He scrolled through the contacts until he found Lieutenant Monroe’s number.  He initiated the call and held the phone to his ear as he draped an arm around Chloe’s shoulders.  “Olivia,” he pleasantly greeted through the phone as the pair started towards the house.  “I am quite well, thank you.  And you, my dear?  I’m happy to hear that.”  Lucifer looked at Chloe and smiled widely as he winked.  “Actually, yes, there is something.  Call it a favor.”

**Lucifer**

Lucifer waited patiently, perched on the edge of the kitchen table, watching as Chloe paid and dismissed the babysitter, and then promptly disappeared into her daughter's room.  He heard the faint ruffle of blankets from the darkened room before seeing Chloe exit the room.

“She’s sound asleep,” she started quietly as she slowly closed the bedroom door.  “This is the first time since…”  She sighed as she moved into the kitchen.  “Well, since the kidnapping, that she’s gone to sleep with a babysitter here.”

“Ah, progress,” Lucifer smiled gently.  “Little, but progress nonetheless.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a nod.  “I suppose it is.  Hopefully, this is followed by a decent night’s sleep for her.”  He stood and took a tentative step towards her.

“What about you, Detective?” he asked carefully.  “When was the last time you had a decent night’s sleep?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” she admitted.  “I just…”  Dropping her head, she turned her back to him.

“You what?”  He took another step towards her, gently placing his hand on her arm.  “Detective?  Tell me.”

“It’s all I think about, Lucifer,” she said in a whisper as she turned towards him.  “Every time I close my eyes, I see you on the floor, covered in blood.  I can’t eat; I can’t sleep.  I can barely function during the day.”  She lifted her eyes to his.  “It hurts.  Right here,” she explained, jabbing her fingers into her sternum.  “It leaves…a hole.  Right here and it…”  The tears spilled over her lashes.  “It hurts,” she breathed.  “The thought that you could have died…kills me.”

“I’m right here, Detective,” he started gently.  “Right here with you.”

“How do I know that?  How do I know this isn’t some crazy, twisted dream?  What if I wake up to find out you really did die?”  She drew in a trembled breath.  “How do I know _I_ didn’t die?  That I’m not living in my own personal hell, tormented by images of the people who have been taken from me?”

“Detective.”  The word left his mouth barely audible.  He took her hand and backtracked a few steps to a kitchen chair.  As he sat, he pulled her down onto his lap.  “Do not overthink it,” he said quietly.  Gently curling the fingers of his left hand around her right wrist, he lifted her hand to his chest and placed it over his heart.  He watched as her eyes followed the movement of their hands, as a subtle frown drew her brows together.  Her palm flattened against the silk of his shirt, and the frown grew as her exhausted mind tried to reconcile what she had witnessed in the hangar, reconcile her fear with the steady rhythm she felt beating beneath her hand.  “I am quite all right.  As is your daughter.”  He lifted his free hand and brushed the hair from her face.  His fingers drifted along the line of her cheek, curled under her jaw.  “As are you,” he whispered as he lifted her chin.

“Then why do I feel so empty?” she exhaled.

“There is no need to feel empty,” he said, offering what he hoped a soft, comforting smile.  “I’m right here with you.”  The tips of his fingers brushed her cheek and her eyes fluttered to a close as she released a soft sigh.  His thumb and index finger came to rest framing her chin as the rest of his fingers skimmed the skin of her neck.  Slowly he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers.

Both froze as their contact solidified; neither breathed, neither furthered the depth of kiss.  Lucifer pulled back slowly, just enough to break the connection.  He had not planned to kiss her.  As he mentally replayed those brief seconds before the touch of their lips, he realized he had given in to an urge he had not even registered experiencing.  Yet it was more than an urge.  It was a need.  A need to prove to the detective that he was truly with her, a need to offer comfort.  His lips parted as he pulled back a bit more, prepared to apologize.  The words didn’t have an opportunity to leave his mouth as Chloe leaned into him and reconnected their mouths.  Her kiss was just as soft, just as still, but heavy with question, with intent.

With permission.

As Chloe pulled back, his fingers traced the line of her jaw, slipped beneath her ear and disappeared into her blonde hair.  Lucifer tipped his head to the left as he released his hold of her hand, as he studied her features and closed eyes for any change.  His arm slowly wrapped around her waist as her hand slid to the top of his shoulder.  He unhurriedly placed gentle pecks against her lips, waiting for a sign, to know with unparalleled certainty that this is what she wanted.  She sighed against his mouth, her fingers flexed against his shoulder and he deepened the kiss, unwilling in that moment to let her go.

“Mommy?”  The pair quickly separated and Chloe turned her head towards the sound of her daughter’s voice.

“I’ll be right there, Monkey,” she called over her shoulder.  She licked her lips, closed her eyes and released a gentle breath as she turned back to Lucifer.

“Perhaps I should take my leave,” he whispered.  She nodded gently.  Carefully, she stood and stepped away.  He stood as well and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, pulling them slightly from the cuffs of his suitcoat.  With a nod, he turned and they moved towards the door.  “Call me tomorrow,” he started as he turned the doorknob.  “Let me know how you’re feeling, how you slept.”

“I will,” she replied with a nod.  Having fully opened the door, he turned to her.

“Good night, Detective.”

“Good night, Lucifer,” she said quietly.  He stepped over the threshold, took two steps and then stopped.

“Detective.”  He quickly turned back to her and entered the house again.  He lifted his hands to the sides of her face and pressed his lips against hers.  As he slowly pulled back, his fingers dropped from her cheeks to her jaw, coming together with a soft touch beneath her chin just as the contact between their mouths ceased.

When Chloe opened her eyes, Lucifer was gone.

**Stage Five – Acceptance**

Lucifer stood at the top of the staircase, hip resting against the railing, drink in hand, as he surveyed the bouncing crowd of people dancing around his club.  They cheered and laughed, moving to the beat of the music as their compromised minds released their inhibitions and allowed them to relax and enjoy the moment.  Lucifer smiled as he lifted his glass to his mouth, savoring the bitter alcohol inside.  His smile slowly fell as his eyes fell on a blonde-haired woman taking a seat at the bar.  He didn’t need to see her face to know the woman was Detective Decker.  She looked around for a moment before turning towards the bartender and accepting the drink he offered.

“I’m surprised to see you up here,” Amenadiel started as he stopped at Lucifer’s side, “instead of down there by Chloe.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”  He folded his arms across his chest.  “Just seems to me that the two of you have been inseparable as of late.”  Lucifer turned towards his brother.

“I’m sure that’s not the case.”

“Isn’t it?” Amenadiel asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.  “Three days ago—”

“We were working a case.”

“Oh, of course you were.  What about the day after that?”

“What about it?”

“Wasn’t that the first day of the so-called vacation you garnered for Chloe?”

“It was,” he replied.

“And you were with her all day, weren’t you?” Amenadiel asked knowingly.

“I simply wanted to ensure the detective saw to her own needs and not solely that of her child.”

“And yesterday?” he pushed.

“The detective has been through a lot, dear brother, all thanks to you.  She’s certainly going to need more than one day to sort out her issues.”  Amenadiel turned his eyes back to Chloe as she took a small sip of her drink and looked around the club again.

“You know she’s looking for you, right?”

“She could be looking for anyone.”  He took another drink from his glass.  Amenadiel nodded and moved to stand behind Lucifer.

“Look at her, Luci,” he said quietly over Lucifer’s shoulder.  “ _Really_ look at her.  She doesn’t see a fallen angel, she doesn’t see the devil.  She doesn’t see inherent evil.  She sees a man, Luci, a _good_ man.  A man who seeks justice as he fights by her side.  She sees the man you believe yourself to be.”  Lucifer turned around and raised an eyebrow.

“What do _you_ know of what I believe?”

“If only you could see the way you look at her,” he chuckled lightly.

“And what way would that be?”

“Like you love her.”  Lucifer scoffed and turned away, lifting the glass to his mouth to finish the drink in one swallow.  “It’s interesting,” Amenadiel commented.  “She looks at you the same way.”  Lucifer took a deep breath as he watched his brother descend the stairs and blend into the crowd.  His focus shifted to the detective.  He cared for Chloe more than he cared for any other human, but Amenadiel was wrong.  He did not love her.

The devil was incapable of love.

With a soft sigh, Lucifer started down the staircase and made his way to the bar.  All talk of love aside, he _was_ happy to see the detective.  The fact that she was in Lux, not holed up in her home, present of her own volition only served to widen the smile gracing his lips.  He stopped behind her stool and reached around her to place his empty glass on the bar.  His other hand stretched along her other side and he rested both palms along the edge of the bar top.

“Detective,” he purred in her ear.  “What a pleasant surprise.”  He pulled back slightly as she turned on the stool to face.

“Hi, Lucifer,” she smiled.  “I have some good news.”

“Oh?”

“The knife you found at the crime scene the other night…the night you ordered me off the case, remember?”  He chuckled lowly.

“Ordered you?  I certainly didn’t hear you protesting, Detective.”

“That aside,” she laughed, “Detective Carter ran the prints.  Turns out they belong to a man he and his partner have been pursuing for over a year.”

“Quite the coincidence.”

“Yeah, it is.  Carter also said you called him the next morning; gave him the supplier of that particular type of knife.”  She tucked her hair behind her ear.  “How did you know about the supplier?”

“Maze needed a new blade,” he explained with a gentle shrug.  “One of good quality.  Only the best for my demon,” he smiled.

“Well, that supplier happened to have an address for the suspect.  Took some digging and tracking his movements through the city…”  Her smile widened.  “Nine murders, Lucifer, and they arrested the son of a bitch that committed them.”

“Wonderful!  We should celebrate.”  He straightened from his lean over her and offered his arm.

“Lucifer,” she laughed.  “Don’t you have…”  She looked around the full club.  “You know, people to schmooze?”  He turned and eyed the crowd around them.

“They’re already enjoying themselves, Detective.”  He turned back to her.  “What more can I possible do?”  With a wink, he reached for her hands and pulled her off the stool.  “Now it’s our turn to enjoy ourselves.”  Chloe offered a soft smile and small shake of her head as he led her to the staircase.

**Lucifer**

“You’ve been quiet the last couple of days,” Chloe commented as Lucifer refilled her glass of wine.

“Yes, I suppose I have.”  He placed the bottle on the table and then breathed an absent sigh as he sat back into the cushions of the sofa.  She pulled her left arm off the back of the piece of furniture and softly poked a finger into his temple.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”  He closed his eyes and offered a gentle laugh.  Adjusting his position to bring a leg onto the cushion, mirroring the way she was sitting, he opened his eyes and met hers.  His smile fell slowly as he regarded her.

“I gave it all up for you,” he whispered.  “All of it.”

“Lucifer.”  Chloe placed her glass on the table, and then took his glass to place next to hers.  “I am…so very thankful for what you did.”  She shifted closer to him until their legs touched and took his hands.  “I hope you know that because I don’t know how I could ever express that much gratitude.”

“I would do it again,” he confessed.  “Though that’s not permission to make it a habit.”

“Certainly don’t plan on doing that,” she laughed.

“Good,” he smiled.  “Glad that’s settled.”  His smile sobered again and before he registered his motion, he was reaching towards her, brushing a flippant lock of blonde hair from her face.  “I don’t understand it,” he admitted.

“Understand what?”

“All of these things I’m feeling.”  His eyes dropped to his fingers as he slowly traced the line of her jaw.  “It’s…weird.”

“Weird?” she questioned quietly.

“Not in a bad way.”  He frowned as he searched for the right word.  “Different.”  Lucifer offered a shy smile as he dropped his eyes and his hand.  “I thought I was going to lose you.  When Malcolm took off after you, I…”  He shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I was scared, yes, but there were…thoughts.  There were other…feelings.  Things I’ve never felt before.  Regret, I think.”  He lifted his eyes to hers.  “Over losing something I don’t yet have.  It’s all I think about lately.  Searching for…whatever it is.”  He offered a nervous laugh.  “Makes sense, right?” he joked.  Chloe returned his smile and gently squeezed the hand she was still holding.

“It does make sense, Lucifer,” she said with a nod.  “Sometimes, the words just don’t exist.  You’ll find it.”  She offered a quirk of a smile.  “Whatever it is.”

“I truly hope so.”

“It’s late; I should head out.”

“There you go again, being an old young person,” he playfully chided.  “Are you certain I can’t convince you to say?  Just a little while longer?”  He lifted his eyebrows as she shook her head.  “One more drink?”

“Haven’t I bothered you enough for the night?” she asked around a light laugh.

“You are no bother, Detective.  As I’ve said, my door is always open for you.  Besides, with your spawn spending a ‘girls’ weekend away’ with your mother, surely you can take one evening to unwind.”

“Maybe a different night.”  She patted his knee and stood.  He rose and followed her through the penthouse, stepping around the end of the piano to gather her black leather jacket from the top of the instrument.  He curled his fingers around the collar, holding it up as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

“I’m holding you to that.”  He gently freed her hair from the collar, reveling in the softness of the locks as he released them to flow over her shoulders.

“I won’t let you down.”  Lucifer tipped his head slightly to the side as Chloe turned to him.

“Good night, Detective.”

“Good night, Lucifer.”  He watched as her eyes dropped to his mouth, as the corner of her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth.  Placing her hands on his shoulders, she stepped into him, lifted herself on her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.  As she lingered unmoving on his mouth, as he lightly settled his hands on her hips, realization washed over him.  Chloe breathed a soft, content sigh as she stepped back and turned towards the elevator.  Lucifer moved quietly to stand behind her.  His fingers circled her wrist, preventing her fingers from pressing the call button.

“What I felt,” he started quietly over her shoulder.  “What I _feel_ …”  He drew her arm in front of her, switching his hold from his right hand to his left.  “I want to know what it means.”  With a gentle pull on her harm, a gentle push on her hip, he turned her around.  “I want to feel it.”  He hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her mouth as his eyes focused on her lips.  “Again.”  She took a slow breath and closed her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers.  He felt a welcomed surge of warmth spread through his body, felt the soft shudder of reciprocation from hers.

Gently pushing Chloe against the elevator doors, Lucifer broke the kiss and carefully studied her face.  Unlike those around him, he had accepted the _what._   He was, after all, the one who had died.  Unlike those around him, the questions that plagued him had nothing to do with the physical acts of death and reemergence.  He simply wanted the _why_.  As he met the detective’s eyes, he knew he had found the answer to his question.

“Lucifer?” she started quietly.  “What’s wrong?”  Perhaps it was time for the devil to acknowledge that he had changed, was still changing, courtesy of the woman in his arms.  Perhaps it was time to allow himself to accept the _why_.

“Nothing,” he whispered.  He pulled her from the doors and into his body as he leaned in to kiss her again.  They moved through the penthouse, still connected, towards the sofa.  Lucifer dropped to the cushion, pulling Chloe onto his lap as he fell.  His arm slipped around her waist, his fingers softly tangled in her hair, holding her as close as possible.

Perhaps it was time he admitted to himself, accepted the fact that he was very much in love with her.


End file.
